Beyond Noesis
by Depressed Dalek
Summary: McCoy is dying and Spock feels there is more he could have done.  Now will he be able to confront his ultimately human feelings for McCoy before it is too late?  Low rating for now.  May change.  First slash fic :D
1. Chapter 1

Greetings, Earthlings! I'm back on my home planet and giving my lonely computer a little company. I hope you enjoy the results. This is my first Spock/McCoy fic. I've been watching a lot of Star Trek lately (especially the movies) and was inspired. Did anyone else notice heavy slash implications in ST IV?

Anyway, this is also my first slash fic. Took me a while to get into them, but now I definitely understand the addiction.

So without further ado, I give you Beyond Noesis.

Prelude

To an outsider, the stiffness of Spock's stature was a simple indicator of his Vulcan control. To those who knew him well, however, it was apparent that Spock was attempting to repress his human emotions with little success.

Spock was worried.

He tried to ignore that small voice inside him telling him that everything that had happened was his fault. He closed his eyes, summoning his father's voice, repeating the Principles of Surak to himself as he waited outside the doors of Sickbay.

A doctor running by shattered Spock's temporary poise and in that moment, he had never felt more human.

He tried to reenter his meditations, but images unbidden kept creeping into his mind.

The laughter, the noise, the pressing, sticky crowd, the spilling water, a sudden realization in unnaturally blue eyes, the glint of metal and the bright red blood.

Spock flinched, remembering with anguish how the slender form had crumpled to the ground, how he had pushed with all of his superhuman strength to reach him before another blow fell. He remembered the cracking of bones in the alien's arm, the howl of pain and finally the fearfully thin heartbeat and struggling to make his voice steady as he requested transport to their shuttlecraft.

So here Spock stood, confined to the waiting area, restless. If it had been anyone else, he would have been able to return to his quarters to meditate.

However in this moment, Leonard McCoy, his friend and more-than-friend lay dying in his own Sickbay and there was nothing Spock could do to save him.


	2. Chapter 2

Yay reviews! Glad my first slashfic is well-received so far...Enjoy!

Spock didn't know how much time had passed since the attack on Leonard McCoy. Though his internal clock could measure time to the millisecond, Spock would have been tempted to say it had been days, not minutes since the alien had stabbed McCoy with a six inch blade. He calculated McCoy's odds of surviving such an attack to be 108 to one. Or was it 109?

Nothing seemed to make sense.

Even his cornerstone, his cool logic failed him where McCoy was concerned.

Spock turned to face the Sickbay doors. Reaching to straighten his uniform top, he froze. Covering his fingertips and most of his palms was a layer of congealing blood. Still with horror, Spock turned his hands over, conscious of wiping them on his pants. He struggled to wrap his logic around him as the memory rose to the surface...

_"Come on, Spock. Just because you're a damned camel in this heat doesn't mean the rest of us can go four hours without water," Leonard McCoy groused as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve._

_"Perhaps, Doctor, if you conserved your strength by refraining from complaint, you would be in better spirits."_

_McCoy grinned. "Ah, but that, my friend, would be illogical!"_

_"How so?" Spock raised an eyebrow._

_"Because I'm only in good spirits when I have something to complain about. Now just rest your pointed ears here. I'll just be a minute."_

_Spock watched fondly as McCoy elbowed his way into a crowded bar, seeking hydration. Mentally, he began to count to a minute just to see how far his friend would run over his allotted time._

_He would never admit it, but needling McCoy gave him a sort of...satisfaction meditation could never duplicate._

_Having reached a minute, Spock turned his attention to the bar. No sign of McCoy among the other aliens enjoying vacation on Elphus Prime, the newest vacation spot on the celestial map. Essentially a tamer Risa, Elphus Prime offered a more dignified excursion for the elite of all species._

_At McCoy's insistence, Spock had accompanied him, surprising Jim, who was due to return to Iowa while the Enterprise was refitted._

_Spock had counted to three minutes, forty-two seconds. A quick calculation told him that even with this crowd, a moderately operational replicator would have served McCoy's drink one minute, fifteen seconds ago. Puzzled, Spock entered the bar to seek out his friend._

_He had to resist the urge to push the sweaty crowd away from him. Each brush against his being assailed his telepathic nature. Repressing his discomfort, Spock scanned the establishment and found McCoy holding a tall glass over water over his head and trying to talk his way through the crowd._

_Someone jostled him, causing a small splash of water to land on the back of a seated alien of indeterminate origin. Spock's acute hearing automatically focused on McCoy's gravelly voice._

_"...sorry about that."_

_Instead of brushing the accident off, however, the alien rose to its full height, about half a body taller than McCoy. Even from this distance, Spock could hear the mutter under the doctor's breath._

_"Oh come on. A barfight?"_

_Spock pressed forward, heeding his inner urge to close the distance between himself and McCoy._

_"Look, my mother always taught me never to cry over spilled...water. So let's just forget this - agh!"_

_The room seemed to stand still to Spock as his mind took in the ridged knife under McCoy's heart, the dropped water glass, the sneer of the alien and the roar of the bloodthirsty crowd._

_Even as his desert-dwelling nature frowned upon the water wasted on the dirt floor of the cheap establishment, his human side surged forward to make sure no more blood joined it._

_After an eternity (10.53 seconds), Spock reached McCoy's side, one hand grabbing and shouldering the bleeding man while the other deflected the returning knife. He was aware of a crack in the alien's arm as he snapped the bones in the wrist, but it mattered little._

_All Spock could think about was getting out, getting away from the sweaty bodies, the noise and then he was running, pushing, there was pain, heat, blood, far too much blood, and then suddenly there was bright sunshine and open air. Spock opened his communicator with a shaking hand and requested immediate transport to their shuttle, all too aware of the bright blue eyes inches from his own._

_"Hiya...Spock. Did you know that your ears...look pointer upside down?"_

_McCoy's humor sounded forced. His thick accent held a bleak note of terror in it. Was he going to die out here? Surely a physician should die of natural causes in a bed surrounded by loved ones, not in a barfight on an alien world._

_More to reassure himself than McCoy, Spock spoke._

_"You are not going to die, Leonard."_

_The transporter cut off any chance the wounded man had to reply..._

"Commander Spock?"

Spock did his best not to appear startled, as Nurse Chapel had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Her smile was forced, sympathetic, the uneasy smile of a physician about to deliver bad news.

Spock couldn't bring himself to ask, so he waited. Finally when she said nothing, the beast of his emotions clawed its way out through his mouth.

"He's dead, isn't he?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Let there be Chapter Three. Poof._

"Nurse Chapel, please do not concern yourself with my feelings," Spock said.

Her brow crinkled. "No, he's not dead. He's been stabilized for now, but his status could change at any minute. Right now, he's awake and asking for you."

Spock nodded, surprised. McCoy was asking for him? "I will see him."

Together, they entered the Sickbay. Spock had to fight the urge to recoil as soon as he entered. The stench of human blood - McCoy's blood - was thick in the medical bay. Spock felt his heart clench slightly as he approached the bed where McCoy lay.

"Doctor McCoy. How are you feeling?"

McCoy smiled at the human concern in his voice. "Never better, Spock. Losing all that blood took off those last few pounds I wanted off." He laughed briefly, stopping as the pain from the knife wound under his heart throbbed.

"I will leave. Clearly you need rest." Spock moved to leave, but McCoy caught him by the wrist. He tried to ignore the relative coolness of McCoy's fingers, the softness of his palm and focused on his face instead.

No help there, Spock mused. The paleness of his face only made the bright blue eyes stand out more. His hair was spiked in odd directions, but he no longer seemed terrified. He felt a rush of tenderness towards the figure in the bed.

"Spock. You..." He looked away. "Well, dammit Spock, you saved my life."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I am convinced you would have done the same for me."

McCoy nodded. "Of course. But I just wanted to tell you I appreciate it in case I take a turn for the worst."

"You are stable, Doctor," Spock said, feeling his tension return. Sensing the change, McCoy let his fingers slip from Spock's wrist. Spock missed the touch sharply.

"Don't give me that, Spock. I'm a doctor. I know that he hit me near a vital."

"You will survive, Doctor." Spock's anger leaked into his voice and McCoy's eyes widened.

"I'm just saying..." His eyes fluttered and for the first time, the pain he must be suppressing to carry on this conversation dawned on Spock.

Carefully, Spock pressed his fingers against McCoy's katra points, focusing on creating a reasonable defense against the pain. He was surprised to encounter fierce resistance from McCoy's mind. He withdrew, curiosity coloring his features.

"I am trying to help you, Doctor," he stumbled, feeling ashamed of his actions.

McCoy closed his eyes, shutting off Spock's insight into his mind.

"I need my pain, Spock," he said, his gravelly voice quiet and solemn.

"I do not understand. Keeping yourself in pain when there is another option available is illogical."

McCoy chuckled slightly. "I'm an illogical guy."

"That much is obvious," Spock retorted, trying to repress the pleasure he obtained with this gentle teasing.

McCoy grew somber. "The pain...gives me something to fight. If I'm warm and comfortable, I could just slip into death without a second thought."

Spock was silent. "Then I shall endeavor...to make you more uncomfortable in the future," he said, hoping his logic was applied with reasonable accuracy.

McCoy grinned. "That means a lot, Spock."

"If it will ensure your...discomfort, I shall visit again in a few hours," Spock continued, the barest hint of humor in his eyes.

"Spock, feel free to do your worst."

"I will, in fact, try to do my best," Spock replied, puzzled.

"I expect nothing less," McCoy said, simultaneously weak and sternly mocking.

Sensing the moment was right, Spock melted into the darkness of Sickbay, leaving McCoy alone with his pain.

_Reviews are much appreciated!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

"Spock!" The smooth voice of James Kirk echoed down the corridor as the captain boarded towards him.

"How's Bones? How is he?" His breathing was rushed, as if he had run here all the way from the shuttlebay.

"Doctor McCoy is sleeping," Spock said.

Jim made a move to enter Sickbay, but Spock stopped him with a word.

"Nurse Chapel gave orders that he was not to be disturbed." There. Not quite a lie. She had said that two years ago when Leonard had been overworking himself again.

"Oh..." Jim sounded disappointed. "Well, when can I see him?"

Spock drew his eyebrows together, trying to be patient. "I believe Doctor McCoy will call us when he wants visitors." Strangely, he was feeling very protective of Leonard.

Trying to draw Jim's eyes away from the stark smears of blood on his sleeves, shirt and pants, he clasped his hands behind his back and began to walk. "I thought you were already on your way to Iowa."

Jim cast one last reluctant look at the Sickbay doors and joined Spock in his steady stride.

"Well, I was, but when I heard the news, I high-tailed it here as fast as the shuttle could go. I'll just stay on the Enterprise until we make it to Earth."

They had reached Spock's quarters, so he stopped and turned to face the captain.

"If you will excuse me, I would like to rest and clean up..." Unconsciously, he kept his bloodstained hands behind him.

Jim nodded grimly. Then his face crinkled in boyish enthusiasm. "Hey Spock, maybe when Bones wakes up, we should keep you two far away from each other. He will need a reason to live, after all."

Spock felt displeasure creep into his face.

"Good night, Captain," He said coldly, ignoring the fact that it was mid-afternoon.

"Spock, come on. I was just kidding-" The doors closed on Kirk's protesting face.

Breathing deeply, Spock moved to the sonic shower, sliding out of his uniform without any particular care or effort. He left it laying on the floor and paused, naked, in front of the sonic shower. Today, he felt the tiny sonic blasts could not clean him.

"Computer, is this shower capable of using water?" Spock queried.

"Yes."

"Then...initiate shower."

He paused, listening to the water hit the floor. Leonard had mentioned off hand that he liked a long shower after a hard day and today certainly qualified.

He needed to be clean.

Taking a breath, Spock stepped under the stream of water. It was frigid.

"Computer," he gasped as the cold water assaulted his desert blood. "Increase temperature."

The computer complied and immediately Spock felt the blood return to his chest.

He stood under the stream, not washing himself, just letting the water blast away McCoy's blood, Jim's unintended insult and with it, any human emotion that crept to the surface. Why had was Jim said bothered him so?

Supposedly he and McCoy hated each other with a passion, felt so strong a simultaneous aversion toward the other that they stooped to xenophobic remarks and insults to vent their fury.

But Vulcans do not hate and what Spock had felt when he held a bleeding, dying McCoy was not hatred, not even close.

Shivering slightly, Spock raised the heat of the water and resumed his thoughts. He could safely say that the doctor's emotional nature intrigued him, but he was a scientist at heart. Was it not logical then to be drawn to that which so accurately personified what Spock was not?

And the matter of defending himself against McCoy's remarks against his people was natural, he reasoned. Vulcans were a prideful people. Still...

Science failed to explain the fear that McCoy's impending demise had instilled in Spock. Vulcan pride did not appreciate blue eyes, a spitfire personality and a sharp mind.

Spock turned in the shower, screwing his face up as the water collided with his back.

A tiny flicker of an idea appeared in Spock's mind, but was filed and dismissed as exceedingly illogical and not to be touched. He was torn, quite literally, between his Vulcan stoicism and his human indulgances.

The one thing that would explain his utter fascination with provoking McCoy, with watching those blue eyes flash with indignation, with waiting for a rebuttal and, for a lack of one, receiving a lesson in Terran curses...

The one thing that would explain it was the one thing Spock couldn't bring himself to believe.

Cutting off the water, Spock stepped out of the shower. It took him a few moments to realize that, having never used the water version of the shower before, he did not own a towel.

He dripped his way to the replicator, congratulating himself on his foresight, and ordered a towel.

Wrapping it around his waist and tying it, Spock moved about his quarters, enjoying the feel of cooling water dripping down his back. It was akin to the sensation of being rained on, something he had experienced only once in his lifetime.

He bent and picked up his soiled uniform. McCoy's blood lingered of course, a reminder of the danger his...friend was still in.

Spock moved to dispose of the uniform, but paused. Carefully, he unfolded the uniform top and lay it over his arm. He brushed his thumb over the stiffening blood, cautiously as if doing so would somehow hurt McCoy.

Unconsciously, Spock moved towards his bed, still clutching the uniform top. Without meaning to, he lay down, not bothering to finish drying off or even to chance into his nightclothes.

Instead, Spock pressed the top to his bare chest in a purely human display of self-comfort. As he drifted off to sleep, his body moved to cradle the top in a protective fashion.

In waking, Spock tried his hardest to be entirely dispassionate, a perfect Vulcan.

But in sleep after the events of the day, he looked vulnerable, weak.

Spock fell deeper into sleep. The whisper of a name upon his sleeping lips was barely more than a breath.

"Leonard..."

_Reviews are appreciated!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Alright, I finished writing this. There will be a total of eight chapters and I will try to have the whole thing up by August 10th._

_Chapter Five_

Spock awoke with a start. It took him a few minutes to regain his composure in the darkness of his quarters.

"Computer, lights and time."

"It is 0130." The lights were an assault on his eyes.

1:30 in the morning. He had slept almost seven hours. He had promised to meet Leonard in a few hours. What if something had happened? Surely he would have been contacted...

Hurrying to his closet, Spock slipped out of the towel that was clinging to his legs and into a uniform.

He paused at the door to collect himself, then strode purposefully out into the corridor. He arrived at Sickbay slightly troubled by the strange looks he was receiving. Upon entering, he noticed Nurse Chapel suppress a smile and direct him to Leonard's bed.

The blue eyes were closed and his breathing was deep and regular. If he had been human, Spock would have breathed a sigh of relief. He pulled a chair over to the bedside and waited. Finally after about 30 minutes, Leonard opened his eyes. Slowly he raised a hand to his head, not as if in pain, but rather to clear the cobwebs deep sleep and medication had woven.

Finally, he turned his head in Spock's direction and grinned.

"Well look at you." His southern accent was thick with fatigue.

"I must inquire...what is so amusing about my appearance today?"

McCoy struggled to sit up against the mound of pillows. Spock moved to assist him, but McCoy waved him away with a gesture. Finally comfortable, he replied.

"Well Spock, your hair...it's stuck in the back. Well, to tell you the truth, it's stuck up everywhere. Did you sleep with it wet or something?"

Spock opened his mouth to make a retort about McCoy's hair not looking much better, but paused when he saw the mischievous glint in McCoy's eyes.

"If I may ask another question, Doctor." Spock paused, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Shoot."

"Shoot what?"

An exasperated sign. "Just ask the question."

"Are you...happy to see me?"

McCoy's face echoed surprise and a touch of curiosity.

"Well yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

Spock looked away.

"Spock..." Leonard leaned forward in concern.

"What's on your mind?"

"Jim seems to believe that you would make a more efficient recovery...if I did not visit you."

There. He'd said it.

McCoy looked confused. "Why would he say that?"

Spock bristled. "His exact words were 'you will need a reason to live.'"

His mood was not improved when McCoy burst out laughing.

"I fail to see any humor in his comment, Leonard."

Wiping his eyes, McCoy had to gasp for air to reply.

"Oh Spock, that's just Jim's sense of humor. He thinks that since we are always at each other's throats, I would need time away from our arguing to heal."

"I still see no humor."

McCoy grinned and waited until Spock met his eyes. "The funny part is, our arguing, our bickering is one of the high points of my day."

Spock's eyes widened with the admission.

"So my presence is..."

"Entirely welcomed. Even if you do look like the Devil himself with that hair." He grinned again and despite his best efforts, Spock felt the ghost of an echoing smile on his lips.

"I'm due to return to my quarters today. Can't stand it here anymore."

At Spock's look, he raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

"I know, I know. It's my sickbay. But doctors make the worst patients and I'm ready to get out of here."

"You are not known for your patience."

"Damn straight." McCoy grinned.

"You are expected to make a full recovery?" It was more of a question than a statement.

"Yeah. I still have a bit of pain under my ribs, but other than that...hey...Spock."

Spock's face darkened.

McCoy sat up fully and Spock felt the brush of his hand on his arm.

"Spock. What's wrong?"

A heavy silence hung in the air and it did not go unnoticed to either that Nurse Chapel had left. They were alone.

"I suppose...I am displeased with the way things occurred."

"You're not wishing me dead, are you Spock?" McCoy's feeble attempt at humor stabbed at him.

"Never," he spat.

McCoy's eyes widened. "Then what the hell's the matter with you? I'm going to be fine. It's my own damn fault anyway."

"What if I had gone with you?" Spock asked.

"You can't change the past," McCoy countered.

"Perhaps there was more I could have done." Spock's control was slipping.

"SPOCK! There wasn't a damn thing you could have done. I am going to be fine, so stop sulking like a guilty child!"

Guilty. The word struck a chord with Spock. McCoy did have a knack for reading him better than anyone else.

"I suppose I do feel...guilty. If you had died..."

Spock found he couldn't finish the sentence.

"If I had died," McCoy's voice was quiet and low. "You would move on. We all die, Spock. Not all of us have the assurance of having our katras preserved. Hell, I don't even know if there is an afterlife. But if something does happen to me..."

Spock winced slightly, but McCoy continued as if he hadn't seen him.

"If something does happen to me...consider it my dying wish, no my dying command that you do not blame yourself," he chided.

Spock's dark eyes met his with such intensity that Leonard had to look away.

They sat in silence for a while and, feeling awkward, McCoy moved to pull his hand away from Spock's arm.

Quick as lightning, Spock's hand shot out to clutch McCoy's own. Its palm was relatively cool to the touch. Moving his thumb to brush the Doctor's fingertips, he found small calluses where medical tools frequented his hand. Spock was fascinated by the energy that McCoy put out through the physical link."

"Spock. What the hell are you doing?" McCoy didn't sound angry, only incredulous.

Spock's eyes met McCoy's again and Sickbay seemed to fall away. Slowly, carefully, Spock reached out two fingers and brushed them along McCoy's jawline. To McCoy, it felt as if an electric surge was being drawn where Spock's fingers met his skin.

"Spock..." McCoy's voice was breathy now, unsteady.

"Yes, Doctor?" Spock ran his two fingertips over McCoy's brow, down the side of his face and brought them to rest on his trembling lips, a Vulcan approximation of a kiss.

"Spock, whatever the hell you're doing, 'Doctor' seems a bit formal."

"Yes, of course. Leonard." He paused to savor the feeling of McCoy's breath on his fingertips. "I believe you are correct."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Now you concede."

"I believe my...guilt over your injury is indeed the product of an emotion."

McCoy's eyes wavered from Spock's slightly.

"What emotion is that?" He said, unsure if he really wanted to hear the answer.

"To put it in a human colloquialism, I believe I have 'fallen for you,' Leonard."

Thousands of possible responses seemed to float through McCoy's mind, but only one seemed fitting.

"Well shit, Spock."

He raised an eyebrow and withdrew his fingers. "I will leave." He stood, hoping deep down that Leonard would stop him, whether to argue or reason with him, it didn't seem to matter. He just didn't want to leave.

Reaching the door, he turned to the man he loved. "I am sorry if my admission has caused you..." he searched for the right word. "Discomfort."

Turning on his heel, he departed, only too aware of the blue eyes that followed him back to his quarters.

_And that was a freaking long chapter. Hope everyone enjoyed! Stay tuned for chapter six in two days! As always, reviews are put onto a little shrine and dedicated to my ancestors. Thanks for reading!_


	6. Chapter 6

_As promised, here is chapter six!_

Leonard McCoy sat in his quarters, absently passing a roll of bandages between his hands. It had been two days since Spock's confession and still McCoy couldn't quite bring himself to believe that the stoic Vulcan had feelings for him that extended beyond friendship. Spock had been...well, tender with him in Sickbay. McCoy reached up to rub his jawline, which still seemed to burn where Spock had touched him.

Vulcans did have feelings. This didn't surprise McCoy. He knew Spock too well to deny that. But the intensity of Spock's gaze, the fierce loyalty and possessiveness that Spock had demonstrated was...what? McCoy simply couldn't decide what to feel.

"Okay..." he mused. "Suppose Spock and I were bonded. We drive each other nuts anyway. Might as well be at it for life. Our companionship is agreeable." He stood to pace, then stopped to shake his head. "Hell, I even sound like him. This is no matter of logic."

He resumed pacing. "Do I love him?" He paused again. "Am I gay?"

It had taken a near-death experience for Spock to acknowledge his feelings for McCoy. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine how he would feel if his closest friend and sparring partner died. He frowned suddenly as a huge weight seemed to tug at his heart.

He couldn't deny that he cared about Spock. Despite all the teasing and bickering, Spock still occupied a fond place in McCoy's heart.

"Maybe I'm over-complicating this." Screwing his eyes shut, he tried to see Spock as an object of sexual interest. True, those ears had always fascinated McCoy.

"I wonder if Vulcans kiss..." he said, tossing the bandages up in the air and catching them. Sharply, he remembered the feel of Spock's fingers on his lips and decided that yes, they most certainly did.

He wondered what it would be like to kiss Spock. To date Spock. He chuckled at the image of them sharing an ice cream sundae in the mess hall. While it was an odd image, it didn't seem unappealing.

The door chime interrupted his thoughts and, assuming it was Nurse Chapel come to check on him again, he began to wind the bandages around his bare chest. They were really there to hold the skin graft in place. As irritating as they were, Nurse Chapel had ordered them. Leonard probably would have done the same thing in her place.

"Come," he said and he adhered the bandage and reached for his shirt. The doors opened and Spock entered. Both men froze. The stiffness in Spock's stature told McCoy that he wouldn't be here if he had a choice.

"Doctor." Spock said curtly.

"Hello Spock," McCoy replied, pulling a black shirt on and feeling awkward. "What can I do for you?" Despite the cold reception he was receiving, McCoy was determined to make the best of a distinctly uncomfortable situation.

"The Captain requested that you make a list of items that Sickbay needs. We will be arriving at the docking station in ten hours."

McCoy knew this. Jim had requested the list a few hours ago and he had already finished. There was no need for Spock to get involved unless he was here for another reason.

"Yeah, I've got the list. Hold on a second." McCoy turned and bent over his desk. Despite his best efforts at a cold facade, Spock watched with interest the lean muscles in the shorter man's back ripple as he dug around his desk.

McCoy turned, data pad in hand, and walked back over to Spock. "Here you go. Let's hope that the tricorders they send are better than the faulty ones they gave us last time. Damn things..." His voice trailed off as Spock's fingers brushed his, sending a jolt of electricity up his arm.

"If there is nothing else, Doctor, I will take my leave of you," Spock said, not quite meeting his eyes.

There it was - his cue. If he spoke out now, maybe they could work something out. If not, he wouldn't see Spock again for three weeks - at which time irreversible damage might be done to their friendship.

"Do you have a minute, Spock? I think we need to talk."

_Sorry this one is so short. Only two more to go and both of them will be long chapters. Thanks for reading as usual! Reviews are appreciated._


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

Spock raised an eyebrow and moved towards the chair McCoy had indicated with a sweep of his arm. McCoy still stood however and eventually resumed pacing.

"Spock, two days ago, you told me that you loved me," he began.

"I believe my exact words were-"

"Never mind that," McCoy said, dismissing that with a wave of his hand. "That's what you meant, isn't it?"

He took Spock's silence as a yes.

"To tell you the absolute truth, Spock, you could have bowled me over with a feather when you said that." He paused, taking a moment to examine the extremely uncomfortable Vulcan. His face looked darker as if he had not been sleeping well and his mouth was set in a thin line.

"I'm not sure I know where to begin," he said.

"Perhaps, then, you should dismiss me and be done with it," Spock remarked acidly.

The jab hit home and McCoy winced. "Spock...I know that I have a history of failed relationships. First with Jocelyn...hell, I've failed in my attempts to be a father to Joanna."

He resumed pacing, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I'm nothing special, Spock. I'm an ill-tempered old curmudgeon with a fondness for liquor, swearing and seeing the worst in things. I'm the sort of man who is supposed to die alone and lonely."

His pacing grew more erratic as he felt Spock's dispassionate gaze on him.

"I've let people down. I run away from my problems." He paused mid-step. "I'm telling you this because you don't know what you love," he said bitterly.

"I...have hurt Joanna more times than any decent father should be allowed. I have no way of knowing how she would feel..." he took a deep breath. "If I told her I was gay."

Spock's eyebrows shot to his hairline at this, but he could find nothing to say in return. McCoy flopped into a chair opposite Spock and stared at his hands.

"Joanna...is everything to me, Spock. I couldn't bear to hurt her."

Spock nodded slowly. "I understand. I will leave you now, Doctor."

"Sit your pointy-eared ass down and let me finish," McCoy growled. Spock hastily complied.

"I couldn't bear to hurt her," he repeated, "so I sent her a message. We talked for an hour and the subject came up."

Spock couldn't imagine how Leonard could have possibly woven that revelation into a conversation, but he let the man continue.

"Spock. I'm a broken, tired man. I can't promise any sort of happiness, d'ya understand?"

They sat quietly for a moment.

"Well, you are only human," Spock said mildly.

Leonard paused a moment and laughed until he was choking for air. The unreality of it all, that this man had so quaintly summed up all of his faults into one neat little package amused him to no end.

Wiping his eyes, he set one hand on the desk.

"I just want to give you fair warning."

"Of what?"

"It's only right that you know what you're getting into," McCoy drawled.

Spock's eyes widened. "Am I to assume that you reciprocate my feelings?" he said deliberately.

"That would be logical, yes," McCoy said with a slow, easy grin.

"You...being logical."

"Perish the thought, darlin,' because it won't last long," he said, carefully extending two fingers in Spock's direction.

"I don't know what we're getting into, Spock, but I'm willing to give it a try."

Too moved for words, Spock's answer was simply to brush two of his own fingers against McCoy's. Together they sat, absorbed in the enormity of the moment. Spock gazed out the window to see the moving stars. Tonight, they seemed, to him, wonderfully alien and remote. The coolness of Leonard's fingers over his own anchored his body to the present, but his mind leaped ahead in a dizzying rush of possible futures...

Each one more thrilling than the last.

_It's not over yet! One more chapter! Hope everyone enjoyed that one and as always, reviews are welcomed! Also, please check out my new Spock/McCoy story - A Bitter Affair._


	8. Chapter 8

_Alright, here is the grand finale. McCoy's age is a guess. Thanks so much to everyone who has stayed with me on this fic. This is the hardest couple I've written and I appreciate your feedback more than you'll ever know._

_Chapter Eight_

Many years later...

Leonard McCoy was worried. He bent over the tomato plant leaves with a characteristic grimace. "Damned tomato bugs." Somehow, despite the repelling units he had buried at each corner of his modest garden, they seemed to find their way in. Grousing over the imminent loss of one of his better plants, Leonard extended two dirt-covered fingers to the robed figure that appeared next to him.

"They got another one. Somehow the damn things make it past the fence."

"Fascinating," the figure mused.

Slowly, Leonard creaked to his standing height to look Spock in the eye. Spock bore his age well, seeming only a little more distinguished. McCoy, on the other hand, was on his third set of knees. He looked and felt each of his 138 years as Spock's fingers met his own.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" He said, waving to one of Joanna's grand-children who was playing further down the street.

"Yes," Spock said simply. He didn't need to ask how painful this was to McCoy - he could feel the man's anguish through their bond, forged almost 100 years ago.

"I suppose I can't expect a postcard when you get there," McCoy joked feebly.

"No. The Romulus' security network is most...scrutinizing." Mentally, Spock berated himself for his cold response. How fiercely he had hated his father for leaving Amanda on her deathbed while he negotiated a treaty and here he was doing the same thing!

"You really believe in this, don't you?" He didn't need to say it. Leonard could feel the hope Spock carried, the promise of a potential reunification between Vulcan and Romulus, as strongly as if they were his own beliefs.

"I believe that with time, Vulcan and Romulus can be reunited," he said simply.

"As your doctor, I'm obliged to remind you of the danger here."

They stood in silence and watched Earth's sun set, McCoy leaning slightly on his hoe. He didn't want to ask when Spock would return because he wasn't sure he could bear to actually hear him say that he couldn't come home until the Reunification was complete.

"Leonard..." There was a deep chasm of pain in Spock's voice.

"Don't worry about me, Spock. I'll still be here. I plan to live forever," he said with false cheer.

"You know I would stay if I could."

"The needs of the many..."

McCoy's eyes met Spock's and despite being framed by deep wrinkles, they were still as blue as ever.

"You better get going," he said. 'Leave,' he thought, 'while I can still bear to let you go!'

Spock brushed his fingertips against McCoy's face with incredible tenderness.

"I only go, knowing that you are with me with each step. I can never be lost with you by my side," he intoned.

"Parted, but never parted," McCoy replied with a cheeky grin. "My, but aren't you waxing romantic tonight." He touched his shaking fingertips to Spock's forehead. Spock smiled, that very slight upward curve of his lips that he reserved for Leonard alone.

Slowly, Spock took hold of McCoy's hands and pressed the fingertips to his lips. The clatter as the hoe slipped away to hit the ground did not shatter their reverie.

Silently, Spock turned and walked up the crunching gravel road that led away from their country home. McCoy watched him go with the wavering sentimentality of aged men. Spock's robes billowed under the gentle Georgia breeze. Tenderly, McCoy pressed two fingers to his lips in an echo of the first kiss they had shared.

Spock had reached the top of the hill. He turned back, silhouetted by the blazing orange of the setting sun, and raised his arm to the distant figure in a sort of salute.

Back in his garden, McCoy raised his own arm in reply and didn't lower it until the last twinkles of the transporter beam had flicked into nothingness. He lowered his head, blinking the halo of the sun out of his eyes. He bent, picked up the hoe and began tilling a new plot of land. They had been planning to introduce some native Vulcan vegetation to the garden to see how they would fare.

If his resident Vulcan was any indication, they would do quite well.

A small, tired smile found its home on McCoy's face even as a shuttle bore the echo of the smile deep into the yaw of space.

Truly, they were parted and never parted.

_The end._

_Look for a companion poem titled Young Again in about a week. Also, please check out my newest story, A Bitter Affair. Thank you so much for reading!_


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